


I came to life when I first kissed you

by Kratsayra



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Ages Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - High School, Dry Humping, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Arya are thirsty for each other, Making Out, Okay maybe a little plot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rhaegar keeps Jon away from the Starks, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kratsayra/pseuds/Kratsayra
Summary: After her parent's death, there is only one person who can make Arya Stark feel alive again. Problem is, they don't exactly get along.





	I came to life when I first kissed you

**Author's Note:**

> Just a combination of prompts that I wanted to fulfill for my own amusement.  
Enjoy :)
> 
> Title is from 'Yours' by Russell Dickerson

He's staring at her.

"Targaryen is staring at you again." Hot Pie tells her, but she keeps her head down, shoving food into her mouth angrily. "Not the blond one, the dark one." He tells her like she had any doubt which one it was.

Gendry tenses beside her, the forearm that is resting on the table besides hers flexes, and Arya hisses, "Don't do anything stupid."

But he's stubborn, so he gets up, his chair scraping the floor of the cafeteria in a screech and starts in his direction. The hall is quiet, on edge, and Arya sucks in a breath, hoping she's not going to have to drag him out before he starts a fight. 

Gendry's back is turned to her, but after a heavy moment he turns and walks out of the hall, and the chatter picks up again.

___

She knows Robb is banging Daenerys Targaryen. She's seen how they grope each other when they think no one's looking, or disappear for long periods, returning with their uniform skewed and hair messed up.

So, she shouldn't be surprised when she walks into the girl’s bathroom and hears Robb moaning in one of the stalls. He's telling Daenerys how tight she is, and Arya is frozen at the entrance, her hand clutching the door knob hard.

She takes a shaky breath and then she runs. She knows she should be going back to class; the bathroom pass she got was just an excuse to catch her breath, but it had left her more unsettled.

She’s huffing by the time she reaches the roof, so she drops herself unceremoniously on the floor, and forces herself to relax. Robb was fucking a Targaryen.

The Starks had never been close to the Targaryens, ever since their aunt had ran away from home when she was a teenager, and then married her boyfriend, Rhaegar. Her dad had told her that Lyanna Stark would have wanted to come back, but Rhaegar never let her. And when she died, he never allowed their son any interactions with them either.

As if she had conjured him up from her thoughts, she notices Jon Targaryen sitting in one corner, a cigarette between his teeth and studying her quietly.

"What you looking at creep?"

He's silent for a long while, and Arya can feel the cold air biting the exposed skin of her thighs, or maybe it's his cold grey gaze.

"You should cover your legs, it's getting cold."

"And you should keep your eyes up here, before I scratch them out." her voice is breathy and that annoys her.

More than that, the smirk on his face absolutely drives her mad, so she gets up and leaves with a muttered curse.

__

"Since when do you wear thigh-highs?"

Arya kept her eyes on her phone and ignored Sansa's raised eyebrows.

"Obviously trying to catch some boy's attention." Jeyne singsongs, but there's a nasty edge to her voice. "Is it that big friend of yours?"

Sansa nudges her best friend, indicating for her to shut up. But Jeyne is really stupid, so she just says. "What? He looks like he's got a big...foot. _Oh,_ there he is now."

Arya, who is considering shoving her fist in Jeyne's face, turns to the roar of Gendry's motorcycle in the driveway.

She puts on the helmet he hands her and climbs in behind him, ignoring Jeyne who's smirking and Sansa who's shaking her head.

"So, nice socks." Gendry says after a while and she smacks his helmet.

"Shut up."

__

He's on the roof when she goes there during lunch.

She wants to tell him to fuck off, this is her spot and she loves being alone up here. But the words get stuck in her throat when she sees the look on his face.

She's suddenly hot and then cold and then both at the same time. And his gaze is everywhere, thorough and _touching her_.

Grey eyes framed by the longest lashes she's seen on anybody. And it sears her to the spot, both beautiful and dangerous. 

_Hot_, she thinks, _it's too fucking hot_.

She shivers and takes an involuntary step back, because it burns, kinda like ice and fire together.

"Wh-What... _Stop_." Fine time to be tongue-tied Arya.

When he takes a step in her direction, she resists the urge to turn tail and run. He walks up to her, right up till his shoe bumps hers. Then closer when she doesn't flinch away. There is no space to breath and she wants to push him away.

She leans in.

"They suit you." the tips of his fingers are hot on the skin between the thigh-highs and the hem of her skirt, and she is rooted to the spot.

"Fuck you." She wants to congratulate herself for getting that out without stuttering, but then he whispers, "Keep them on when you do."

__

She's sitting on the bench with a twisted ankle when he touches her again. 

It's gym and they were playing volleyball, but one wrong twist and a stern '_Stark, bench!_' from the gym teacher had put her out of the game. She sulks, watching the girls shout and have fun as she's made to sit out, when he drops down on the bench next to her.

"Can I?" He's reaching for her ankle without waiting for her answer, so she twists away quickly, dropping the ice pack and biting her lip to stifle the cry of pain. She bends her knee and presses it to her chest, wrapping her arms around it for good measure, probably looking really skittish, but she doesn't care at the moment.

Her ankle is protesting, so she presses the back of her heel against her thigh, hoping to numb the pain. 

"I'll be gentle," he cajoles, his grey eyes bright and sincere.

_No_, she wants to say, but she doesn't. So he reaches for her ankle again, his fingers warm on her skin as they wrap around her leg gently. The hair on the back of his fingers brush her thigh and her gaze flies back to his. 

Grey eyes are dark now as he lightly lifts her leg and places it on his lap. and she's holding her breath. 

He tugs off her shoes and socks carefully, and brushes his fingers on the swollen area and she flinches, and it's not just pain shooting up her body. Her breath comes out in a whoosh, but he is focused on wrapping the compression bandage around her ankle snugly.

"You shouldn't ride back home on a motorcycle today."

"Well, _duh_."

The smile on his face is fleeting, secretive and makes her feel more alive than she has been in a long while. 

__

She must be going mad because she was now constantly thinking about what it would be like to kiss Jon Targaryen. 

So, when she spies him in an empty classroom one afternoon, working on something so intensely she finds herself curious enough to walk in and find out. 

He is sketching something, fingers sooty black from working the charcoal on the paper, which consumes his entire focus _so_ absolutely. She's knows what it feels like when his eyes focus on _her_ like that. 

"What are you drawing?"

He jumps at her voice and it feels like a little victory that she can catch him unawares too. He moves to cover the page, but Arya recognizes the face.

"Is that me?"

The smudge of black on his cheek and nose stands out against his pale skin as he hesitates, then moves back to show her. 

It _is_ her. Just her face, and so... she swallowed, so _vulnerable_. The expression scares her, because he has seen her like _that. _

And she hates it, she doesn't want him to remember her that way. so, she pushes the sketch book aside and leans over the table to press her lips against his.

His mouth opens beneath hers, and she slips her tongue inside as her fingers knot in the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer.

He swallows her groan, and she yelps when his hands come under her armpits. He picks her up over the table, and she crawls to the edge before plopping into his lap. Then he takes her mouth in a kiss so _thorough_, she's reeling when she breaks away for a hasty breath.

His mouth is on her neck, kissing down the arch to the crook and up to her jaw again. She squirms in his lap, and his hands close around her socks encased knees before he pulls her down harder against him.

She gasps, remembering his ridiculous demand about those damned socks. _Oh god_.

Her fingers fist in the front of his shirt, tugging the buttons clumsily, but then his mouth is back on hers and she cannot coordinate her fingers enough to continue. He doesn't seem to have any such problems, because one hand is squeezing her breast through her shirt and the other is deftly pulling off her tie.

She leans against him, and then they both gasp when she slides over the bulge of his pants. It feels _so_ good, so she does it again and their combined groan is breathy and desperate. She continues to grind down on him, angling her body _just_ right, so she's rubbing her damp panties over his crotch. And it makes the bottom of her spine tingle deliciously.

His hands are back on her knees, pulling them wider, and sliding his fingers up her thighs. She watches as they leave a light trail of charcoal fingerprints in their wake. She shivers when they move from sock to skin and then continue up with no hesitation, till they are fingering the elastic of her panties curving up on her ass. 

She whines and grinds harder, feeling something build slowly within her. His fingers slip underneath the elastic and squeeze her ass hard, pulling her forward into his chest, so that it’s her clit rubbing down on him now.

Her moan is appreciative, and a little delirious. And she shakes as the orgasm builds in earnest now.

His breathing is erratic too, and he grunts and groans against the crook of her neck, occasionally rotating his hips and causing them both to cry out together.

He comes first, biting down on her neck to muffle his groan as he shudders beneath her. 

"_Arya_..." Her name a pray, or a plea.

And it just serves to drive her up and over the edge, and then she's coming too, biting her lower lip against the moan bubbling from her mouth. 

She's slumped over him, her chin leaning against the top of his head, his hair fluttering with the force of her breaths. 

"_Jon._" She gasps and clings to him.

__

The next time she comes to the roof, she's not surprised he's there, and smoking up a storm. She makes a face in disgust.

"Took you long enough." he says in greeting.

Arya scoffs and leaves hm there, walking to the end and resting her arms on the concrete edge of the banister.

"Why don't you hang out with your posse anymore?" she asks. He is always with them anyway. They're loud and entitled and have the world at their feet.

He comes and stands close behind her; she knows even though she can't see it. The hair on her neck stands on end.

"I like the quiet up here."

"It's not very quiet with me up here."

"No, it's better."

She can hear the thumping of her heart. "You're out of your mind."

There is no response, but the air is tense. Heavy with things unsaid.

His arms come around her waist, and he buries his face in her neck. “Yes.”

__

She's riding to school with Gendry, when their cars pull up next to them at the red light. Aegon’s red Firebird and Daenerys white BMW to their right, and Jon's black Mercedes GLS -windows tinted so dark, she sees her reflection in them- to the left.

Daenerys waves from her car, but just then the light turns green and Gendry shoots off, going so fast the breath is knocked out of her.

Gendry stays grumpy the whole day, and Arya gives up on trying to cheer him when he snaps at the strawberry yogurt she buys him. 

She sits on the bleachers alone and eats it herself, watching them practice after school. Her mind has drifted off, so she doesn’t notice when Jon sits down next to her, until he's reaching for the spoon and plopping the yogurt into his own mouth.

She stares as he licks the spoon, then gives her a sideways glance. 

"I prefer peaches."

"I never asked."

"You should try it."

"I like blackberries."

"I'd like to try that."

Her stomach clenches and she tells herself he's talking about yogurt. "What do you want?"

"Quite honestly? A smoke, _but_..." He lets the sentence hang, and she knows why.

_Oh, for heaven’s sake!_

She turns away and ignores him, finishing the yogurt quickly.

"Why don’t you ride to school with your brothers or sister?"

"Um, mind your business?"

"Why don’t _you_ drive? Motorcycles are very unsafe."

"They're perfectly safe. Gendry has been riding one for years now."

"You could ride with me.”

She swallows. “No.”

“I promise to behave.”

She stands up because practise is over, and because she doesn’t know if she can promise the same.

"What did he want?" Gendry's hair is wet from the shower. 

"Who?"

He gives her a look, and Arya fidgets. "Targaryen."

"He was just talking about random stuff."

"Talking?"

"Yeah like peach yogurt... See I gotta go, I'll meet you tomorrow, okay?" She doesn't stick around for his reply, running to catch him in the lot.

__

His car idles under the large weirwood down the corner of her street, as they make out in the front seat.

Jon has his hand up her shirt, and she’s got hers down his pants and their kisses are getting more sloppy and wet as their hands work furiously.

Suddenly Arya spies Jeyne Poole’s mother crossing the street, and she ducks to hide her face. The woman was the worst gossip and she doesn’t want her great uncle asking her about Jon.

Although Brynden Tully usually didn’t interfere with their daily lives, she didn’t think gossip about his great-niece making out with a Targaryen would be something he would casually ignore.

Jon however, has other ideas and his thumb and index continue to tease and pull on her nipple. She whimpers and squirms away. “_Stop_, she’ll see me.”

“She’s right there, looking this way.” He tells her dutifully, and rolls her nipple taut.

She chokes back a cry and slides further down the seat, the steering wheel digging into her back painfully. Jon gives her a smile, his fingers brushing away the hair sticking to her face, then his smile freezes when her thumb brushes the slit of his cock.

Slowly she drags her fist up and down his length, squeezing a little at the head and there is a low rumble from his chest which excites her immensely, so she leans forward and kisses the leaking tip.

“_Arya_.” His voice is supposed to be a warning, but its more like a plea.

So, she rubs him faster and swirls her tongue across his slit leisurely. He’s jerking in her hand, his jaw locked so tight as he thrusts his fingers in her hair to bring her mouth closer. As soon as she locks her lips around his head, he’s coming in her mouth, hot and hard and relentless.

She swallows and then licks her lips and grins. “I think its best we don’t ride to school together.”

__

She can’t stop the low moan when his lips close around her clit and suck.

Jon pops his head up; his chin is wet and shining in the sunlight creeping in from the window. “You have to be quiet.” His voice is rough and she nods, tugging him back between her legs.

They’re in the farthest study cubicle of the library, and although there is no one around, the librarian could still hear them. The cubicles are tall, so no one can see her sitting on the desk, her skirt flipped up while Jon is hunched down between her legs. But aside from the saloon style half-doors, there is no real enclosure to hide behind.

The fear of getting caught is pumping more adrenaline into her blood and Arya bucks into his mouth.

Then he’s thrusting his tongue _inside_ her, and she has to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop the scream forming in her chest.

_Fuck_.

A finger comes back on her clit and she tries to squirm away, but his hand on her thigh holds her still. His tongue and finger work her relentless, and she’s writhing on the table which is now wet with her juices. It all coalesces into a single point and then, and then…Jon pulls _back_.

She whines and grabs his head, tugging him back between her legs desperately. “_Please_.”

“Please what?”

“Please, please, _please._”

He kisses the inside of her thigh, then runs his tongue along the elastic band of her thigh-highs.

She swallows, he’s going to make her say it. “Jon, _please_. Make me come, with- with your tongue.”

Her face is so incredibly hot, but it’s worth it when he returns his attentions to her sopping wet cunt, and makes her come, _three times_.

__

They visit Riverrun for the holidays, but the place has changed so much since she had last been there, she almost hates it this time.

Her Uncle Edmure had married Roslin Frey and the entire Frey brood seemed to be perpetually visiting the house. It is bearable when she goes fishing with her great uncle, or sneaks out and visits the nearby lush greenery of the Trident, or hangs out at the Crossroads Café.

But she is ever so glad to be back home at the end of the break. And it most definitely has nothing to do with missing him.

“I missed you,” he whispers to her between kisses, his hands on her and everywhere at once.

Don’t do it, don’t do it… “I missed you too,” she groans when he bites down on her neck.

It’s the first day back to school, and as soon as they found each other they snuck into the empty theatre hall and locked themselves in the dark control booth above the stage.

She’s rubbing the front of his pants, as he assaults her mouth with tongue and teeth, alternating with innocent little kisses on her neck.

With a growl she pushes him against the wall, and kisses him back hungrily, nipping his neck that is sharp with a 4’oclock shadow. Her cheeks are raw and she knows she’s going to have beard burns she’s not going to be able to explain to _anyone_. But right now, she doesn’t care.

Her fingers work on the buttons of his shirt, and she has it undone and off in record time. Jon doesn’t seem to have patience for _her_ shirt, so he just pulls it off over her head, leaning in and biting down on the swell of her breast above her white lace bra. His thumbs sweep across the lace, before they’ve zeroed down on her nipples. Then his blunt nails are dragging across the sensitive buds under the lace and she arches her back with a gasp.

He teases her like that, pinching and scraping until she pushes him away, and takes control again by unbuckling his belt and then pulling the zipper down. She swallows when she finally has him out of his pants.

He’s so hard and ready for her and she wants him _so_ bad. She gets rid of the rest of her clothes quickly. Automatically bending down to pull off her white socks, but then she pauses, and looks up at him. He’s grinning at her- _fucking fiend -_ so she leaves them on.

As soon as she straightens, he’s kissing her again, hard and fast and she crawls on top of him, clinging to his shoulders. Her legs wrap around his waist and he’s carrying her across the room, placing her on the panel desk in the front just below the windows.

She squirms away, acutely aware that she’s naked in front of the glass windows, but he’s got her firmly between his body and the panel.

“We’re too far up, no one can see unless they come up the stairs, and that way is locked.” He tells her when she begins scratching his back. The protest dies on her lips, when the head of his cock slides between her folds, hot and hard and so _big_.

“Oh _fuck_…” her voice cracks when his lips close around a pink nipple and sucks, his tongue tickling the bud simultaneously. She’s whining and her heels dig into the bottom of his spine, nudging him along.

He lines himself up, and then thrusts into her and she screams. She’s full and stretched and she wants _more_. Her muscles clench around him eagerly, and she wriggles her hips, so that he can go deeper. Jon groans, his eyes widening before he starts thrusting in earnest.

He slams into her a few times, before he grabs her below the knee and pushes her leg up against her chest. He slides in deeper making Arya’s eyes roll backward. And then he’s hitting a spot in the back, which lights up places in her she never knew existed.

Her moan is long and keening when she comes, her body arched and taut like a bow. His lips are at the bottom of her throat, kissing her there almost tenderly as she rides down her high.

His thrusts get more frantic, and the loud squelching echoes in the dark sound-proof room obscenely.

“Jon, _Jon!_” her voice is desperate because she can feel another orgasm building swiftly.

“I know, let go babe.”

So, she does, clamping down on him as he continues to slam inside her. The second one drags on and on, and she hears Jon moan loudly when he thrusts a few times and then spills inside her. His eyes are screwed shut, and when he opens them, they’re nearly black with lust.

He’s still hard, and when her muscles clench around him to make sure, he twitches inside in answer.

“Again?”

“Yes, please.”


End file.
